


Wings For a Crow

by SaltwaterEldritch



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Redemption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Ghost Akira Kurusu, Guardian Angels, Haunting, Hurt No Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, My First Work in This Fandom, Sad with a Happy Ending, Strangers to Lovers, Suicide, akechi goro is done w everyone's bullshit, more light hearted than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltwaterEldritch/pseuds/SaltwaterEldritch
Summary: Akira Kurusu was dead. Being falsely accused and sent to juvie was the last straw, which pushed him over the edge and made him end his own life. The game was ended before it could begin and the rehabilitation was never followed through.But fate isn't done him yet. After all, the second wildcard has chosen the path of ruin and hate, and needs a little nudge in the right direction.(Or, in which Akira dies and turns into an angel tasked with pushing Goro into the right path and to take his place as Savior of Humanity.)
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 7
Kudos: 119
Collections: Quality Persona Fics





	Wings For a Crow

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote 2k words in an afternoon without really planning anything, just a small plot bunny, and now it's a fic which I'm actually posting. But, I'll admit, I don't think I got the emotions quite right on this fic. As a result, what was supposed to be fun turned out kinda dark?  
> I don't think I like, it, but after I put so much effort...  
> Fun fact: This was based on an animation on youtube called "Welcome to Hell". Yeah, a LOT has changed since the initial idea for this. Maybe I'll write a spin-off with demon!Akira another day, who knows.  
> Also, I'M SO SORRY LAVENZA BABY IDK HOW TO WRITE YOU D:

"You're gonna be late."

"..."

"I'm serious, y'know. With that morning routine of yours, there's no way you'll get to the station on time. Might even have to skip the bubble bath today."

"... I don't take bubble baths every day."

"Great! You're awake! Now haul your ass outta your bed before I make a cold spot. You don't know how boring nights can be when you have nothing to do."

"Glad to hear my suffering is at least entertaining to someone."

The boy stretched, a groan leaving his throat as his back arched. He flopped back into the bed, barely doing any effort to get up again. Today wasn't really that important of a day, and certainly not one worthy of agonizing over in a lavender bubble bath, as he liked to do in preparation to stressful days.

_(A small voice in his head reminded him of how common those baths were. He flipped the voice the middle finger.)_

There was an interview in front of some Shujin Academy students later in the afternoon, in a TV station he's been to a few times before. The questions were pre-selected and sent to him over e-mail on the previous night, and he has already written down and half-memorized the answers. Really, there was no need to rush this morning. Besides, the bed was warm and comfy, his blankets fluffy and hugging him all around. He wished he could stay here forever, not giving a single damn about anyone or anything in the world outside his bedroom-

His bed turned ice-cold in a matter of seconds.

" _Argh!_ This is abuse of power, and someday I'll find a way to report you to whoever the hell your superiors are."

"Good luck with that, honey! You're quite wrong on the "Hell" part, though."

* * *

The judge's gavel hitting the small circular piece of wood might as well have been deafening to Akira Kurusu, ringing across the room and back. It reminded him of a guillotine coming down, not letting its victim take its final breath proper.

A probation, something he feared and dearly wished otherwise, would have been paradise compared to the final verdict. The judge's eyes bored to him, unamused, uncaring. Maybe even inhumane, filled with apathy.

Akira Kurusu, 16 years old, falsely accused of assault after trying to help a woman on the street, would be going to juvie hall for "rehabilitation".

He could not see or hear as the people around him got up from their seats, whispering, and murmuring, commenting on the trial, on the sentence, on the boy. The convict.

He could not feel the strong arms around his elbows, wrinkling his carefully-chosen clothes, pulling at his arms, pulling him away from where his fate has been decided without the smallest bit of mercy. Juvenile hall. Twelve months. A lifetime of judgment, long after having left the courtroom and escaped the judge's gaze.

He does not feel his feet bellow him as he walks out of the courthouse. His mind is running and failing at the same time. How hard will his life be after a year has passed and he is free again, older, with a criminal record and twelve months of juvie experience under his belt? How much will he change? Will he be able to go back to school as if nothing happened? Hardly.

Akira was never of the social kind, leaving him with fewer friends than he can count in one hand and with fingers to spare. Equally shy people who had no one else to turn but each other, being found in book clubs and quiet places where people don't search for. Always staying out of trouble, never sticking around long enough to be involved. They all cut contact with him when news that he was in a police station, behind bars, reached them.

His parents did the bare minimum to him. They fed him, clothed him, and kept him in school. It wasn't something they had talked about- but Akira could see it clear as day. "It" was on the way his mother looked at him at every mistake, how she shushed him to his bedroom every time an unknown man was in the living room. "It" was on the way his father was never there, be it physically or emotionally, only present on moments of pure importance, and even then, not really _there_. "It" was on the way the two of them never got along, how it did not matter to them if he could hear them, that he was on the room, that it was the breakfast table and he had not touched his plate by the time he left for school.

"It" was clear: he wasn't supposed to be here. An unwished child. His best guess as to _why_ he even was around in the first place would be his grandparents. Extremely religious, with high opinions of abortion and marriage.

It was even clearer in his parent's eyes as his soul came back to his body to find himself standing in front of his house. He was brought in a different police car from them, and as he stood, hunched over and dead-eyed, they each looked at him with similar expressions of disgust. There was some shame, too. To have a child, their only child, be a delinquent who assaults random pedestrians in the middle of the night, unprovoked. Imagine the gossip, the ruined reputations. It almost left him with a feeling of catharsis, to bring them down along with himself. Almost.

He was guided inside his own house similarly to how he was guided along the corridors of the police station. A nondescript duffel bag was handed to him by one of the officers who brought him here. "Go to your room and pack some stuff. Clothes, few possessions, whatever. Toiletries will be provided once we arrive. Do not bring food. Don't try anything funny, you'll have an officer in the room with you. You and the bag will be searched before we leave. You'll be granted 10 minutes in the bathroom."

He went through the motions, half-numb once more. His favorite shirts, some pairs of jeans, trinkets he bought with the money he received from his former part-time job. It was almost peaceful, searching through his things and picking out what meant most to him, what he would take to his new home for the next twelve months. He briefly wondered what his room would be like, who would he share it with. Hopefully a nice person. Hopefully, everyone got a room for themselves and themselves only. Hopefully, he'd be able to find some nice people, perhaps in situations similar to his own, and befriend them.

The bag ended up only half full, most of it, clothing. No one acknowledged it, the officer in charge simply nodding as he was taken to the bathroom. Alone at last.

This would be the part when the dam broke and the emotions flooded over like a tidal wave. When he was finally left to his thoughts, his regrets, the happenings of the last few days. Oh, right. It has been a week since that night. Time has been acting weird as of late, sometimes hours pass with a blink of an eye, other times minutes take two and a half eternities to be completed. He wondered if twenty-five eternities in a bathroom would be enough.

Enough for what? Akira didn't know either. It had to be enough for _something_ to happen. What would it be, he wondered. What would he do in the last ten minutes he'd be allowed to stay in the only home he has ever known before he was taken to a juvie hall Tokyo?

He wouldn't say it had come crashing down, not really, just... a realization that left a bitter taste in his mouth. This happened because a corrupt man had money and power. A corrupt man who could do this to other people, who perhaps _had_ done so to other people. One of the thousands of politics across the world. So much corruption.

He took a moment to think of himself, too, and a question resurfaced: How different would everything be after he came back? Would he be able to find a high-paying job as an adult, with a criminal record of assault? Certainly not in his small hometown. How would people treat him, after finding out about his record? If he were to find love, they would have to know of his record. Would he still be accepted, then? Would they still want to date a criminal, convicted for unprovoked assault?

What if there is no one like him in juvie. He's heard prison stories, of how ruthless it can be, on how untrustworthy people are. Would juvie be the same, but with delinquent teenagers instead of grown adults? What if things only went downhill from there, as they always tended to do with the boy known as Akira Kurusu?

He was unwanted, has always been. And now he was future-less, too. No friends, no family, no safe place to go to.

There was a way of leaving it all.

It was crazy, he knew. Juvie wasn't the end, he could pick himself up, could try to make the best of a bad situation, could just stay in Tokyo and try to find a good school (what school would accept him?), could look for a place to stay (who would shelter a former convict?) .

But he would rather... Not. How about just ending everything, once and for all. How about no longer hiding in his bedroom when his mother came home drunk, lipstick smeared across her lips, hair a mess, and dress only halfway zipped? How about no longer being in the receiving end of his father's glares as he came back from a rough day of work, yelling at him to get out of the way, fetch him a beer, stop being so noisy up there. How about not having to invent excuses to stay at the library a little longer this afternoon, to stay in the club room for an extra hour, just so he wouldn't have to go home. How about not faking smiles to not worry his classmates and teachers, neighbors and acquaintances.

How about no longer being unwanted? Imagine just not being _there._ At all.

His father's razor was easy to find. So was the ulnar artery after clenching his fist. There was a moment of hesitation before he remembered this was a time-sensitive choice. Well. If it went wrong, what're they gonna do? Send him to the psych ward instead?

The first cut was as excruciating as he expected. He made a few more to speed things up. Then the same to the other wrist, and now all that there was to do was add water in it. He read somewhere, a long time ago, that putting a bleeding cut under running water would make it bleed more. What a great thing to remember in times like this.

There was an unbelievable amount of blood. He was getting dizzy already, and his grip on the razor was starting to lax. His thoughts felt like when he was leaving the courtroom half an hour before (already half an hour?), running wild, and going completely blank at the same time. So this was it, huh. What a way to end a shitty existence. Trapped in his own bathroom with police officers on the other side of the door, arteries slit and still bleeding. He wondered if he should have slit his jugular artery, too.

He only managed to make a small cut across his neck before the dizziness caught up to him and he collapsed on his knees, head barely missing the ceramic sink and razor dropping on the floor with a loud _clink, clink._ Loud, too loud.

He could only hear the water now. Rushing out of the tap, taking his blood with it, and painting the sink and its pipes deep red. It was loud, too loud. If he focused, he could almost hear the judge's gavel. He felt his forehead rest on the sink. Cold, too cold. He used all his strength in trying to keep his wrists under the tap. This was taking too long.

He almost didn't hear the knocking on the door over the rushing water and his thoughts. What if this failed? What if this is all for nothing? Typical of him, suffering needlessly. And for his own stupidity, too!

Colors started to dace. Bright, too bright. Cold, too cold. Weak. Red staining his button-up shirt, the one he'd carefully chose and ironed the previous night for the trial. Oh, so the neck cut _was_ bleeding after all. He could feel it now, as droplets of blood slowly, almost shyly, crept out of the wound. The water ran cold.

Banging, there's banging on the door now. The water is cold. The sink is hard. The colors are bright. Bright bright bright. So cold.

Shouting. Many voices, probably. He can't tell. Seconds have turned into nanoseconds. Glimpses. He doesn't feel much anymore. There are ants under his skin, and the rivulets of blood in his neck and chest feel alien. Is that an angel he sees? Oh, nevermind, just the colors getting bright again. More and more and more. White.

Bang. Bang, Bang. It's loud, lost than the water. He can't hear his thoughts anymore. He is completely blind.

Cold cold cold. He can't tell what he's hearing anymore. Maybe it's the water, still. No, not that. It's too quiet to be the water. Is he laying down?

He's gasping. It's inaudible to anyone but himself. For what? Is he trying to speak? Who knows.

Dizzy, so dizzy. He closes his eyes. It's not as cold anymore. It's no longer anything anymore. Why think. Stop thinking.

...

Akira Kurusu, age 16, closes his eyes on his bathroom floor, covered in blood, and cradled in a panicking officer's arms. The paramedics don't arrive fast enough.

* * *

"Welcome to the Velvet Room, Trickster. Would you like a hand?"

Akira opened his eyes to find himself on the floor of an unknown place, with an unknown man staring down at him, smiling. It was an odd sight, the man had an unusually long nose and eyes so wide they bulged out of his skull. His smile was large, grinning from ear to ear, wider than humanely possible. He offered Akira a hand.

"Who're you?" He asked.

"My name is Igor. Pardon, usually guests would have a bigger welcome to this place. This time, however, we face unusual circumstances."

Akira grasped the offered hand, which promptly lifted him with surprising strength. In the blink of an eye, the vast void they had been on before changed into a small office, deep indigo walls with windows behind velvet curtains that showed nothing but darkness, and a bright light from the center of the ceiling. There was an elegant desk in the middle of the room, covered in papers and folders. Next to it, a filing cabinet that seemed to extend past the ceiling.

A young girl in a blue dress stood next to the table. The shade of the dress matched so well with the walls she would've blended in perfectly were it not for her pale skin and light hair, as well as the yellow eyes which seemed to be almost glowing in the semi-darkness of the room staring at Akira with no emotion.

"I must say, Trickster, I would be lying if I were to tell you I wasn't disappointed." The comment brought Akira's attention to the other occupant of the room, who was now sitting in a high office chair behind the desk and leafing through a manilla folder. "It was truly unfortunate, but thankfully, things have once again turned to our favor." He turned his eyes to the little girl. "Ah, meet Lavenza, my assistant."

The girl blinked at last, clutching a large book to her chest. "Greetings." She turned to face Igor. "I reckon my presence will not be necessary?"

"Feel free to leave, if you wish."

She nodded once, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone. Akira jumped slightly in place, mouth opening, but no words forming. It made sense for things _not_ to make sense in here, he guessed.

"What do you mean?" Asked Akira, sitting in the chair opposite to Igor, and attempting to bring the main topic back on the table. "Is this the afterlife? I thought I was supposed to rest for all eternity, or something, now."

" _"Or something"_ indeed." Igor's smile widened. "Upon death, humans return to the Sea of Souls, where one's consciousness dissolves and joins the rest of humanity as a whole. I'm afraid this will not be the case for you, Akira Kurusu. There is one last thing that must be taken care of before you go. A duty so important that you will be unable to refuse the task."

"I can't choose how to spend my afterlife?" He made no effort to keep the bitter tone out of his voice. He decides to stop being pushed around and the first thing that greets him after death is lack of options?

"Oh, trust me, Trickster, this task has the potential of being more fun than you may expect." Igor closed the file and handed it to Akira. "You are to act as a "ghost." Or, perhaps a _"Angel"_ would be a more appropriate term."

... What?

Akira opened the file, and a picture of a brown-haired boy his age, perhaps a bit older, stared back at him. The boy's eyes were blood-red and as dead as he imagined his eyes to look like in his last moments. Dull, lifeless, but with the slightest hint of determination. Other than that, there was no expression on the boy's face. Name: Akechi Goro. Age: 17. Profession: Detective, part-time Hitman for Shido Masayoshi.

"Despite his innocuous appearance-" No, looking at those eyes, Akira couldn't find it in himself to call the boy 'innocuous' "- The boy is a wildcard, able to use more than one Persona. Two, to be exact. He misuses them, and I'm happy to announce I may have just the remedy for this situation." At Akira's growing confused look, he leaned back and continued with a chuckle. "As you can already guess, there are lots to talk about. Worry not, we have time." 

The lecture that followed was nothing short of complete, absolute, _madness._ Personas, shadows, palaces. The spirit of rebellion inside every human. Twisted desires and cognition. A whole world, unseen by those who have not accepted their true selves. Heroes and villains, things from fairytales made real.

"And that boy, Akechi Goro, is one such wildcard. Unlike the last ones, he does not have the well-being of others as one of his priorities. For the past two years, he has been causing what humans call "Mental Shutdowns", and "Psychotic Breakdowns" in other people by attacking their shadows in the cognitive world." Igor sighed, laying a hand over Akechi's file. "Such a shame. He has the potential to become something great with that power of his, don't you think?" He lifted his eyes to stare at Akira, who had sat quietly through the explanation.

Akira, to his part, found himself believing in the creature. Sure, it could be some demon trying to trick him into doing its bidding, or a creature of evil lying through its teeth for a reason beyond his comprehension, but _something_ in him made him think otherwise. Something in him told him Igor was trustworthy, a good person who genuinely believed in the good of humanity despite is large flaws. Those boys who had been in the Velvet Room before him, who saved people on both a minor and larger scale, who had adventures in Tartarus itself during nonexistent hours and a world inside televisions. It was all true, he knew deep inside himself.

"I still don't understand my role in all of this." He said, ignoring Igor's question. "You said I was going to be an angel?"

Igor leaned forward, his hunched back arching even more as he stared unblinkingly at Akira. "There are countless Gods out there. Most of which were born out of human emotions, such as desire. From the desire to control and let be controlled, Yaldabaoth was born. He wishes to take humanity's freedom, to control and rule over them. The next Wildcard was fated to lead a team of rebels and defeat Yaldabaoth with the power of the soul." His stare intensified. "That wildcard was you."

Akira couldn't help but shrink in himself at that, looking at the deep cuts on his wrists he had been trying to avoid thinking of. Not a single drop of blood has dripped out of them ever since he arrived at this place. The cut on his neck was barely a scrape, yet constantly reminded him of his last deeds every time he shifted a bit. He was supposed to be a hero, huh?

"Well, shit."

"It is not the end," said Igor. "I thought your fellow Wildcard to be hopeless, but perhaps there is a way to change that."

He looked Akira in the eyes, the somber look in his face changing to something stronger, more set. Akira straightened his spine and grasped his own hands on his lap, slit wrists pulsing, but not in pain. "You want me to be his... Guardian angel?"

"Your task is to guide Akechi Goro into the path of light, to show him the way to salvation, simultaneously saving the rest of humanity along. He is to take your place and defeat Yaldabaoth, but he will not be able to do so without your aid."

Akira glanced back at the open file. Akechi Goro. 17 Years old. Detective. Hitman. He Who Will Save The Souls of Humanity.

"Alright. I can get behind this."

* * *

Akechi Goro woke up on the morning of April 9th like he would wake up any other Saturday morning.

Despite being a student, he still worked on the weekends- there's little rest when you work in law enforcement, after all. Crime does not care about what time it is, and if he has to fabricate the cases himself, then he needs to make it as realistic as possible.

He takes a moment to just lay in bed and think. Today will be a peaceful day, hopefully. To follow with the charade of the cases, he will have to interview a few witnesses. This latest case is a simple one: a man who 'snapped' and killed his younger brother, seemingly in a work-and-alcohol-induced fit of rage. Or at least that was what he would be writing upon "solving" it. Right now, all he had to do was interview the relatives and wait for an update from the search party looking for the culprit. No worries, simple enough.

There had been some light rain the night before, Goro idly noted. Stretching and gazing out his bedroom window, the world seemed to be completely still. The sound of cars muffled, no noisy neighbors this early on a Saturday, complete silence, all around. It was like looking at a still picture, a moment captured, unmoving. There, lying in his bed in an empty apartment, time stopped for Akechi Goro. For a few seconds, there was no murder case, no detective work, no shadows, no metaverse, no palace, no Shido. It was paradise.

Of course, things don't always work out for Goro. It comes with being such a cursed child.

The TV in the living room was on.

Strange. He could swear he had turned it off the previous night.

Groaning at the thought of the electricity bill, Goro flipped over and sat up, briefly resting his face in his palms and waiting for his sleep-deprived body to adjust to the new position. Fuck, when did he go to sleep last night?

Scratching at his eyes as he opened the door, Goro did not notice the figure sitting on his couch, who jumped and turned around upon seeing him, raising a hand to wave and opening his mouth to speak, then paused.

Had... Had Goro not seen him?

Akira kept quiet as he watched the other boy skip around the house, as if some frenzied dance, without so much as a glance at the living room. First, an unreasonably long shower, in which Akira couldn't help but laugh at the singing choices. For someone who chose a dark path, he had pretty good taste. Then, after going back to his bedroom- _he left the shower with a towel around his waist, thank god-_ and dressing up in formal clothes, fitting for a detective, Akira supposed, he made a beeline for the kitchen. Akira watched in amusement as the boy _continued_ to not notice him.

Deciding to leave the TV on for background noise, Goro started preparing his usual morning coffee. He added the tiniest bit of milk, then a spoonful of sugar. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then ano-

"You're gonna get diabetes."

Goro screamed and spun around so fast he tripped in his own feet and fell to the floor, resulting in a yelp of pain. The sugar spilled everywhere around him, and Akira couldn't hold the small snort that sneaked out of his throat at the sight. "You okay there?"

Goro was less amused. He was up in seconds, and without much thought, grabbed the kitchen knife sitting on the counter and pointed at the intruder. _"Who the fuck are you?!"_

Akira tensed at the sight of the knife, but forced himself to appear aloof. He may be dead, and theoretically, nothing would be able to hurt him, but that still didn't mean he felt no fear. "Dude, chill. I'm here from a mission from above. Name's Akira. And you're Akechi, right?" He tilted his head, a Cheshire smile coming to his face. "Can I call you Goro? We'll be living together from now on, so there's already _some_ level of intimacy involved."

"What do you want." Hissed the cornered boy. Shit, his phone was still in his bedroom, wasn't it? No way to contact the police, then.

"I want you to calm down. I'm here to help you, uh..." God, this first meeting could have gone better. "How about you put down the knife- you can't hurt me, I think- and we sit down as I spill the beans for what's going to happen for the next few months?" He tried a gentle smile and lifted his hands to show he had no weapon. Hopefully, it would calm a bit-

_"What happened to your wrists?!"_

Shit.

* * *

"You can't ignore me forever."

Goro shot him a look that might as well have said _"I can and I will."_

It had been roughly an hour since they first met, and things were... Tense, to say the least. As they boarded the subway, Akira floating above everyone's heads, curiously brushing his fingers against them and observing the different reactions, Goro knew and lamented the fact that this was going to be a long, _long_ day.

He had been chosen as the second-best option for defeating some genocidal god. Of course. Akira would stick around him until he "rehabilitated", and wasn't that just _wonderful?_

He knew he was far from perfect, as well as unwanted. People only "wanted" him when he was on the stage, acting pretty and nice, like the prince detective he was supposed to be, or the police station, solving crimes of varying difficulty levels, being _useful._ People did not truly care for him as much as they cared for his facade.

Still, despite knowing all of this, it still hurt him to know he was the second choice- not only that, but one that had to be whipped into shape, too. _Akira Whatever-his-last-name-is_ was the ideal, first choice, but now that he's dead, it's his job to _teach_ Goro to be ideal. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Even the gods knew how putrid he was. He had the weight of the people he killed on his back, their blood dirtying his hands.

He wondered if he was even capable of redemption. Such a cursed child, he was.

"Some people shiver when I touch them, others feel a breeze and some don't react at all. I guess there is such thing as "supernaturally inclined people."" Said Akira as he approached the other boy, snapping Goro out of his thoughts. "Say, are you like, a celebrity or something? I saw some people pointing at you and decided to overhear their conversation."

Goro saved himself the embarrassment of talking to someone who wasn't there, and stayed quiet. Akira took this as an opportunity to float idly, even if only for a moment. The wagon wasn't all that packed, leaving some space for Akira to stand on, passively noting his surroundings as the LED lights bathed everything in a clinical glow. Neither the pristine white floor or the darkened windows reflected Akira back when he stared at them, and his footsteps made no sound when he walked, still in that courtroom outfit.

He wondered how his body was doing right now. Probably already buried or cremated, it's been a week, after all. The time jump had been a bit disorienting at first, and he felt curious about how his suicide had been treated back home. How his parents and other neighbors reacted to the delinquent killing himself in his bathroom to escape a year on juvie and a life of lingering stares. He tapped his feet among the floor as he thought. As expected, it did not make any noise. Goro ignored him, reading something on his phone. One looked at him, no one noticed him. He stopped the small pang of _something_ before it could take root and grow into something bigger.

"Igor gave me this file with information about you, but I'll admit, I didn't really look much into it." Akira said as they left the subway, finally breaking the silence between them. "I wanted to get to know you instead of reading about you."

They traversed through the streets, thankfully not too busy due to it being a Saturday morning. Stores were opening later than their usual time, its employees being pretty much the only teenagers they had seen so far. Restaurant staff were tidying up their storefronts, putting out tables, and drawing today's menu on blackboards. Fewer birds flew overhead than Akira was accustomed to, being a big city and all. "Back in Inaba, the buildings weren't nearly as tall," he commented.

"Inaba? Isn't that where-" Goro caught himself and blushed, ducking his head to avoid the curious stares thrown his way. With a smaller amount of people on the streets, it was harder to ignore when someone started talking, and easier to see he was apparently talking to himself. He discreetly threw a glare at Akira, who smiled at his embarrassed face.

"Hm? What were you saying?"

Goro huffed and walked faster, Akira laughing and floating behind him.

* * *

"Good morning, Akechi."

"Good morning, Nijima-san."

The tall woman barely spared him a glace, nursing a cup of steaming coffee and mumbling out a greeting. Of course, she did not see Akira trailing behind Goro, looking around the place in curiosity and a bit of awe. The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department building was huge, and just as pretty and impressive on the inside. Police officers and office workers worked to and fro, each holding their own caffeinated beverage, some alone, most talking in groups.

Goro entered the elevator and chose a floor, not waiting for Akira to come in. The doors closed and for a few seconds, everything was peacefully still. And then-

"Did you forget I can fly, and better yet, go through walls?" Came from near Goro's feet.

He huffed, sounding so exasperated it got a chuckle out of Akira. "You're supposed to be helping me, not annoying the hell out of me." He scowled.

"It's more fun like this. Besides," He floated up, standing right next to Goro as the elevator stopped. "What're you gonna do? Call the police?"

Goro paused before leaving the elevator. There was a small glomerate of people near the door. He took his phone out of his pocket and faking answering it. "I'm under the impression you don't know how to make friends."

A small twitch. "Oh? And _you_ do?"

Goro said nothing at that, and after a moment, he sighed. "Look just... Leave me alone for a while, okay? I have work to do." He 'ended the call' and opened a door to a small room. Turning the lights on, it was revealed that it was an office, similar to Igor's, but considerably less lavish. There was a single file on the desk, sitting between a computer and a simple back office telephone. The tension in Goro's shoulders loosened at the sight of it, glad to be able to focus on work again. He sat behind the desk with a sigh, and after draping his jacket over his chair and turning the computer on, he began reviewing what the TMPD knew already.

As Goro began looking through the paperwork of the case he was working on, Akira took the only other seat in the room: a small plush chair by a large window. 

When he was younger, he had really wanted to come to Tokyo one day, to enjoy the big city, to have fun and sightsee. In a way, his wishes were now granted. The window of Goro's office had a nice view of the city despite only being in one of the first floors, and the sky on that particular day was clear, with very few clouds around and showing a beautiful shade of morning blue.

The people seemed small from the vantage point he was on, and he sat there quietly for a moment, watching pedestrians go on their lives, unaware of the ghost watching them from a tall building. In the quiet of the office, the only sound being Goro's pen as he wrote and keyboard as he typed, it was a peaceful moment.

The chair did not dip despite Akira's weight on it, and he did not feel the fabric of his own clothes rubbing against his skin. He peeked at his wrists, large, semi-identical holes adorning it, the smallest bit of liquid inside them, but not being able to drip. His dress shirt was completely clean of blood, something he could appreciate- it would be awkward, as well as weird to walk around with a bloody shirt, despite people not being able to see him. Although, the thought brought a small smile to his face. He would look like the Bloody Mary, the very same thing he was deathly afraid of after hearing some rumors in fifth grade.

In fact, he probably every child's fear right now. A tall, dark, brooding ghost. He wasn't exactly the most welcoming figure, even as a living person, but now that he was dead? Haunted house owners should start taking notes.

Although, it's not like anyone would be able to see him now, would they?

That's right, Goro was the only one he was able to interact with.

He tried not to show it, he really did. He had prided himself to remain calm in many situations, in the very least to always have a small comment to make on the things around him. He had always kept his cool, even when leaving the courtroom as he seemed to astral project, his soul flying alongside his mind. He remembered, even as shock left him incapable to react when the police took him away and the drunk man grinned in triumph. It wasn't that Akira Kurusu didn't show emotions. It was that the ones he showed usually weren't negative. He tended to bury those very, very deep.

And so, sitting there, in a small plush chair in the office of a boy he had met just that day, looking down at the city of Tokyo in its early morning glow, watching people laugh, frown, look down in their phones and enter conversations with others around them, Akira felt something he thought he had buried so deep down it would not surface anymore.

The feeling of detachment.

It was the feeling of loneliness, of not having anyone to like him or to _be_ like him. Of not being understood or truly accepted in a group. Of looking down at a bright city and knowing that you won't ever join them. Not because you are unwanted, no. Because any and every chance you had to be like them, between them, is gone. It's been gone for a week now, if not lost in a courtroom under harsh stares, then in the bathroom floor of the house he grew up in.

It hurts more than he remembered.

He wondered, what would happen after his mission is done? He berated himself for not asking Igor that. If it all goes according to plan- and hopefully, it will- then Goro would save the world by defeating Yadalbaoth, but what about Akira? Would Akira continue to walk on this Earth, without a purpose or goal, unseen by all but one in billions, or would he move on to the Sea Of Souls, as Igor had mentioned? Just another faceless soul in a literal sea of them. He couldn't decide on the best alternative.

He was pressing himself against the glass, pretending not to notice as his hand went through it. He could not deduce if the glass was cold or not. He could not feel the sunlight on his skin. He wanted to go outside. To join the growing crowd and _be part of it._

He barely paid any mind to Goro's yelp of surprise as he jumped through the window, shortly after, landing on the floor of the courtyard in a crouch. He walked at a somewhat frenzied pace, managing to stumble despite having nothing to stumble on. He started sprinting, ignoring as people went through him, as people shivered and fabric fluttered at the small amount of wind he produced. At some point, a cat shrieked and jumped out of his way. He ignored everything. Everything ignored back.

Stopping at a busy crossroads, he glanced around, refusing to float and searching for someone ho looked _at_ him, not through him. Waited for someone to bump into him and murmur a short _"Oh, excuse me."_ Breathed hard despite not needing to, fidgeted with his sleeves, trying to hide the gashes under them. Pressed a hand against his neck. Second-guessed his choice to help Goro.

"Anyone, please." He gasped. No heads turned. It was useless, Igor had told him he would only be seen by Goro, and yet-

_"I'M RIGHT HERE!"_

No one answered.

He took more unneeded breaths. It's no use, he knows it already.

Still, Akira could not keep the long-overdue tears from coming. Unseen in life and death.

* * *

Despite his earlier breakdown, Akira had managed to psych himself enough to go back to Goro. After all, he reasoned, this will all be for nothing if he fails his mission, and thus, must make the best of his choice and get things straight.

(He knew that really, it was never his choice to make. Igor would have forced him to come anyways. Best to have optimistic thoughts, however. One crying fit was enough, thanks.)

It was nighttime and they had just reached the apartment, and now Akira could say, one-hundred-percent sure, that detective work wasn't as cool as television had made it seem. When Goro wasn't reviewing paperwork, he was playing the waiting game. The few moments of excitement- He got to witness an interrogation, from the side of the glass where it was happening!- were few and quick. Despite not being able to be physically tired, Akira was just about ready to drop dead on the couch. The immense power of boredom.

And indeed, by the time Goro unlocked the door and entered his living room, Akira was draped over the small kotatsu, taking shallow breaths and wrapping his arms around his head. He ignored Goro as the other boy headed for the kitchen, just as he has been doing how the last hours.

He had said nothing of what he had done after he came back to the TMPD building, just in time for the lunch break. Goro had tried to question him, but could only do so much when discretely talking to someone who others couldn't see. Even back in the privacy of the office, Akira kept his mouth _mostly_ shut.

Goro set a plate of instant noodles on the kotatsu as he sat beside Akira and turned the TV on. The chattering of the news report served as background noise as he ate, and the silence between him and Akira became even more awkward, the tension almost tangible. Almost as if a single word from either of them would set off a bomb.

"Look," Akira said, and Goro confirmed his previous assumption as the single, soft-spoken word seemed to boom louder than necessary in the apartment. "It had something to do with death, and it's something i _really_ don't wanna talk about. Ever."

Shame, Goro thought. He had some hope he could get insights on it.

"How about after death, though?" Goro questioned as he swallowed a mouthful of noodles. "You told me someone named Igor sent you here."

Akira lifted his head from the kotatsu, supporting it with a palm and staring unblinkingly at the TV. It painted a strange picture, with Akira's unusually pale skin glowed in the semi-darkness, the only lights coming from the kitchen and the TV itself. The glow wasn't as bright as series and movies made it to be, being just subtle enough so that Goro could only notice it in darker environments. In that position, Akira's wrists stood out even more, the red flesh beneath his skin joining that glow. It was unsettling, in the way it looked unnatural. Akira had forgotten to breathe.

"I think he's a god, but I'm not sure." He said, after a moment.

"You think so? How much do you know about him, anyway?"

"Not much. But I can trust him." Something changed in Akira's dead eyes. Goro still couldn't pinpoint what emotion the other boy was feeling.

"How so?"

"I just know."

The awkward silence that had followed their conversations during the afternoon had returned. Goro finished his dinner in silence, and they sat side by side, looking at the TV, but not really watching it.

"We're kinda like roommates, now, right?" Asked Akira.

"Unfortunately."

Akira snorted at that. "Rude, Goro."

"Oh? We're doing first names now?"

"You call me Akira all the time."

"You didn't give me your last name." _Shame, a background check would be great._

Akira didn't say anything at that, instead, turning to face him. "Since we'll be living together, we might as well know each other"

"We're _not_ playing 20 questions." He couldn't keep the dry tone off his voice. It caused Akira to actually laugh this time.

"Well, damn. My plans were foiled by the prince detective!"

"You're gonna use my career against me, aren't you?" A small twitch of the lips.

"There is so much potential." Akira perked up. "We can do scooby-doo jokes. Like, with me as a "monster" and-"

"Don't."

"Ah, I would have gotten away with a good joke if it wasn't for that no-fun detective."

* * *

And so, time went on.

Life was vastly different with Akira around. Using humor as a coping mechanism was far from the oddest thing to come from him. There are, after all, a lot of things you can do if you're invisible, intangible, and mostly unexistent.

Like dancing behind people's back when Goro was at a meeting. He had to thank whatever good god is out there for his ability to keep a straight face. There is also the overhearing thing- Goro was never a gossip, but knowing what was going on around the building made him feel... Included. It was a nice feeling.

And being dead, some questions arose, too. From things like:

"What do you think would happen if I touched fire? I mean I probably would be okay, but what would it _feel_ like?"

And occasionally,

"Maybe those ghost stories have credit to them. I mean, I can go through walls, float, which, granted, isn't really flying. And now I can make cold spots! Maybe I'll possess someone someday."

"... Don't possess me."

To things like:

"There's a cut on my throat, but it's not very big. You think I could shove anything down it?"

"Why."

"Because I can. What am I gonna do? Die again?"

If Goro had to put it into words, he would say things have been more vibrant since April 9th. But among these moments of unexpected laughter and bickering over small things, came reminders of the true nature of their relationship.

"Hey Goro, I think you should check out some guy named Suguru Kamoshida."

"That came out of the blue. Why?"

"Igor told me to tell you."

Goro shifted the swiveling chair to look at Akira. "You're still in contact with him?"

"Well, kinda. Yaldabaoth took the velvet room, as well as Igor's assistant-" He ignored Goro's alarmed look. "- But luckily he is still conscious enough just to contact me."

Goro racked his brain to find where he had heard the man's name before, and then it finally clicked. "Wait, as in, the Olympic champion who became a teacher? He was all over the news a few years ago."

"Yeah, whatever, just look into him."

A chance encounter that had _Fate_ all over it later, and Goro was stalking the halls of Kamoshida's castle with a loud blonde sidekick and a talking not-a-cat. They were soon joined by a yet another blonde, this time thankfully quieter, but no less friendly. It almost left Goro at a loss, really. He had never had that many friends. Or any friends at all, really.

The heist was a success, somehow. Goro learned a lot about the metaverse during his time with a being that actually knew stuff about if. The whole change of hearts thing was particularly interesting.

He wondered if Shido would have a palace.

A bit more of wondering brought him to the conclusion that yes. Yes, he fucking would. Yes, he fucking _has_ one.

Speaking of the devil, he received a message from the asshole as he was having dinner at an all-you-can-eat buffet with his fellow "Thieves." A new target for him to destroy in mementos. Akira said nothing as he read the message over his shoulder. Akira kept silent as they entered mementos after dinner.

Akira spoke up while they were trudging through the train tracks.

"That's kinda counter-productive, don't you think?"

"What is?"

While Goro knew for a fact that he was a great actor, it didn't really work when the person he was trying to fool knew what was going on.

"I'm trying to get you to save people, not kill innocents."

Goro stopped. Akira did too.

"If don't, Shido will go after me. No point in keeping a pet who won't obey."

Akira's gaze harshened. "You know damn well you can just change his heart. You're strong enough, stronger than Ann, Ryuji, and Morgana combined. You have the MetaNav, all you gotta do is find the keywords. Problem solved."

"He'll know exactly what is going on. He knows the cognitive world exists, and he has a way to prevent me from messing with his head."

"Oh? What would they be?"

"Death."

A beat of silence. Then,

"... You're not joking." Akira facepalmed, his voice filled with incredulity. "He's willing to kill himself?"

"Temporarily. He'll be brought back, but if he died when I'm inside his palace, I'll die there, too."

Akira cursed under his breath. "So he'll win either way."

"Yes."

They spent a few moments in silence, the weight of their lack of choices hovering over them. A weight that trapped and left them with little wiggle room, little moves to make, little options.

Still, "little" was better than "nothing."

Akira devised a plan. It was a stupid, moronic plan, but worth a shot.

What do you do when you have someone with power looking to kill you?

You hide.

When you convince a shadow of something, their real-world self gets convinced, too. It was manipulative, to plant seeds of paranoia in their head that someone might be after them, but it was better than outright murder. Once their shadow had been told of Shido's plan, the person would go into hiding, and not even Akira and Goro would know where they ended up. Some got caught, sure, but at least they tried.

Shido soon noticed the pattern, too. Goro was punished lightly in the form of lack of money, his salary being directed to Shido instead with bribery of superiors. However, Goro and his acting were good enough to fool the man himself- _no, I have no idea what's going on, sir._

He came to the conclusion that there was a mole on his team. Someone who, upon knowing who the next victim will be, would inform them so, and push them into hiding. Despite the constant turnovers he did, how many people he fired and how many he threatened, it was futile.

As for Goro himself... He had an endgame plan of his own.

He had gotten closer to the phantom thieves, and with Akira's encouragement, even attempted to trust them- it was work in progress, but still. Yusuke Kitagawa joined their party during their heist to Madarame's palace, and the odd quirks of the boy almost comforted Goro on the feeling of not being the weird one out. Akira had taken a liking to the boy, and Goro could only imagine they weird shit they would to together if they knew each other.

Point being, he could be considered _friends_ with them, and friends help each other. At least that's what Akira told him.

Everything was mostly ready- He had planned all of the alternatives, the backup plans, the _everything._

Just as his would-be victims went into hiding, he himself would hide too.

It will be hard, hiding from Shido, but not impossible. People have done so before, and with the amount of planning the two boys had put into their effort, it would be like Goro had turned into a ghost, just like Akira. With the help of their friends, it was shaping up to be a possible, and each day more real, feat.

But the plan was to be executed another day, when things got too out of hand or when the situation called for it. For now, It was now June, three months since it all began, and their schedule would be a bit busy today.

There was an interview in a TV station in front of Shujin students in the afternoon, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Akira's reason isn't all that good, and that the suicide scene isn't strong enough altogether. I hope it's not offensive, it's a serious topic and deserves a lot of respect.  
> The dying scene is actually based on my own experience with death. I almost died when I was younger, and it's something that I vividly remember, but find hard putting into words. Take it with a grain of salt though. Drowning and blood loss, although ultimately both killing you through lack of oxygen in the brain, are quite different experiences.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is overall lackluster, but glad you managed to read it all :)  
>  _How the fuck do I characterize Akira???_ Oh well, first one-shot, posting the full work with no feedback. It's weird, and I think I could have done better in some parts, especially because in some scenes, _the point of view just keeps changing, and I can't help myself if I wanna write a character's thoughts, dammit._  
>  This is Akira/Goro, but I just,, had to bit a tiny bit of yusuke/akira in the end. I love yusuke, favorite oddball.  
> Another fun fact: it was supposed to end in a scene with Igor, while Goro was being interviewed. I think that's a good enough cut-off point, though.


End file.
